


The Clock Counts Down

by kissoffools



Category: She Loves Me - Bock/Harnick/Masteroff
Genre: Christmas, F/M, First Dates, Missing Scene, Unrequited Love, Yuletide Treat
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-19
Updated: 2016-12-19
Packaged: 2018-09-09 17:25:22
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,594
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8902444
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kissoffools/pseuds/kissoffools
Summary: "I was thinking, maybe a cup of coffee on the way to the bus?""I'd like that, Mr Nowack.""So would I."





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [greenlily](https://archiveofourown.org/users/greenlily/gifts).



> Missing scene from the song "Twelve Days to Christmas"; specifically, the ninth day, in which Georg takes Amalia out for coffee on the way to the bus.

This shouldn’t be so difficult, Georg thinks. It’s just a cup of coffee. It’s exactly the same as walking her to the bus stop, with some added sitting and hot beverages. And at least an extra hour.

God, he hopes he doesn’t screw it all up. 

“Two coffees, please,” Georg says up at the counter of the historic coffee house, and then pauses, looking down at her. “Or—unless you’d like some tea? Or a cafe au lait? I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have ordered for you…” 

Well, two minutes in before the first blunder. _Could have been worse_ , he figures.

But somehow, Miss Balash—headstrong, prideful, outspoken Miss Balash—doesn’t berate him. She doesn’t roll her eyes and push him out of the way, or make a snide comment to the woman behind the counter. No—headstrong, prideful, outspoken Miss Balash tears her eyes away from the shop’s bright stained glass windows and actually laughs. 

“It’s fine,” she says with a smile. “Two coffees.”

He’ll need to get used to those butterflies in his stomach.

“You know, I think that’s the first time I’ve heard you laugh,” Georg points out as they take a seat at the little table next to the window. 

She raises her eyebrows at him over her coffee mug. “That can’t possibly be true.”

“I think it is!” he says. “Or rather, it’s the first time I’ve heard you laugh in a way that wasn’t sarcastic or covering a thinly-veiled insult.”

“Oh, no.” Amalia looks down, her cheeks flushing as she covers her mouth with her hand. “That’s awful.”

And blunder number two times in at five minutes. _A new record, Georg,_ he thinks derisively. _Well done._

“It isn’t awful,” he says quickly, trying to recover. “I like it. It means I’ve finally earned it.” 

The little smile she gives him, head still ducked, is enough light for him to carry around for days.

Amalia takes a long drink of her coffee, and then leans forward. “You know, it’s nice having you back at Maraczek’s,” she says. “I wouldn’t have imagined myself saying that two weeks ago! But the thought of you not being there with us was just too strange. Kodaly swanning around the place wouldn’t be nearly as amusing without your little imitations - though I suppose we won’t have those anymore, anyhow.” 

Georg pauses, tilting his head. “You saw those?” he asks in surprise. He had only ever done those for Ladislav to make him laugh. He had no idea anyone else had ever been watching.

“Don’t worry, I won’t tell,” she says with a little smile. Her fingernails tap lightly at her coffee cup. “They were deeply accurate.” 

“Well, I’m happy to have entertained you.” Georg chuckles, shaking his head. “And all this time I thought you despised my very existence.” 

“Like you despised mine?” 

A gut punch. These past few days, all he’s been trying to do is erase his old behaviour and show her a much more sincere Georg. And now here he is, reminding her of all their quarrels. Blunder number three, ten minutes in. 

“I never despised your existence,” he says slowly and carefully, trying to choose each word wisely. He always paid particular attention to his words around her, in the hope of landing particularly scathing insults. But insulting is the very last thing he wants to be around her now. “I’ve discovered I’m not very good at dealing with new people who dwarf me in every way possible.”

Amalia stares at him, blinking. “I couldn’t possibly dwarf you! You’re far too tall!”

This makes him laugh. “In every way except height, then,” he amends, offering her a little half smile. “You impressed Mr. Maraczek immediately, the way you barged in with gumption and won that bet. I think I may have been terribly jealous.”

“I’m sorry about the cold cream tubes,” she blurts out suddenly.

“What tubes?”

“The Mona Lisa tubes. It was me who filled them wrong, you know it was. And Mr. Maraczek yelled at you over it, and you didn’t tell him the truth. And then you got fired! I should have spoken up as soon as I found out he’d done that and told him it was me. I’m so sorry.” She speaks all in a rush, as if the words were all held together in her throat and anxious to spill out the first chance they could get. 

“Miss Balash—”

She reaches across the table and lays her hand on his. “Can you forgive me?” 

Under different circumstances, there were all sorts of things Georg wanted to say. Things like _I wasn’t fired over cold cream_ and _You don’t ever need to be sorry_ and _I’m deeply, madly in love with you_. But he can’t say any of those things. No, those Dear Friend letters hang over him like a weight. Until he can prove himself worthy of those letters—until she can see that he really is the man she’s been writing to all this time—he can’t tell he how he feels. Because until she gets to know him in the flesh, she’ll never accept words like that from him... because she still wants to hear them from Dear Friend most of all. 

And he can’t say them until she knows him well enough to believe him when he tells her the truth.

So instead, he smiles. “Come on, Miss Balash. Finish your coffee and let’s get you to that bus.”

***

It’s snowing now, soft flakes drifting slowly past them as they walk beneath the streetlamps. The curls in Amalia’s hair are dotted with snow, and they make her look even more beautiful. Georg spots a little shiver run through her as she pulls her long coat tighter against her chest, and he bites back the offer to pull her close and instead offers her his scarf.

“I’m fine,” Amalia says, “but thank you. Really. You’ve surprised me lately, Mr. Nowack.”

“Have I?”

“Mhm.” She nods, raising an eyebrow, and he knows her well enough now to know exactly what that looks means. She’s been paying attention. “It seems your personality is much more like a lamb’s than I’d ever guessed.”

He laughs in surprise. “A lamb’s? Is that supposed to be a compliment?”

“Oh, don’t get all caught up in machismo,” she says teasingly, swatting at his arm. “It’s much better than the bullheaded personality you showed me at first.”

George feels his stomach churn just a little. The memories from their first months together, bickering and trading insults across the counters at Maraczek’s, burn his insides. He’s certain he must have been a complete ass—and to the one person he most wanted to think well of him, as it would happen. He’d give anything to erase those first impressions from her memory.

“I really was cruel to you,” he says quietly. “I’m deeply sorry for that, Miss Balash.”

When her hand rests on his arm, he feels a jolt.

“You don’t need to be sorry, Mr. Nowack. I wasn’t any better.” 

“Do you think...” he begins, and then pauses to regroup himself. “Do you think we might be able to be friends now?” 

She stops them, her hand still on his arm, and tilts her head up towards him. “Friends?” she asks.

“Yes, friends,” he repeats. And then, before he can stop himself— “Dear friends, as it were.” 

Her eyes study his, and he tries to keep a straight face. Tries to look as if he hasn’t said anything unusual at all. Of course, he’s cursing himself and his many blunders inwardly, berating his tongue for letting those two words out of his brain. It’s too soon. If she catches on, she’ll be angry. He’ll be crucified as a liar instead of embraced as a lover. And if that happens… if he loses her just as he’s realized he needs her… well, he’ll never let himself out of his apartment again. He’ll leave himself to rot amongst the newspapers and chicken paprikash. 

Finally, she smiles. “At this point, I think friends is inevitable.” 

He exhales and tries not to make it look like the giant sigh of relief that it is. “Friends it is,” he agrees, and they continue down the street.

They make it to the bus stop just as Amalia’s bus is approaching, and he holds one strap of her handbag as she paws through it frantically for change. Then she jogs carefully over the snowy ground to the front door of the bus, stepping up onto the bottom stair when the doors swing open. Georg watches her go, his heart wistful, wishing very much that she didn’t have to drive away from him every evening.

Amalia pauses on the stair, turning. “Thank you for the coffee, Mr Nowack,” she says.

He smiles up at her. “Remember, only eight more days til Christmas.”

Her eyes widen comically and she puts a hand to her chest in mock horror. “Pray that we survive it!”

Georg laughs, tipping his hat at her jovially. “Goodnight, Miss Balash.”

“See you tomorrow, Mr Nowack.” 

Georg stands there at the bus stop with his hands in the pockets of his grey wool coat, snow falling around him, until the doors shut and the bus rumbles away. And as the bus gets smaller and smaller in the distance, he thinks of the future. Of the day that the two of them will walk, arm in arm, straight past the bus stop and back to Georg’s home together. 

_Someday soon_ , he thinks. Only eight days til Christmas.

**Author's Note:**

> Happy Yuletide, greenlily! I was thrilled to see someone requesting "She Loves Me" for Yuletide - I absolutely love the show, and was so glad to be able to play around a little with Georg and Amalia as a treat for you. We never got to see their coffee date on the way to the bus, so I thought I'd see how that might go. I hope you enjoyed this little extra glimpse at these two!
> 
> Many thanks to mesonyx for the extra set of eyes on this.


End file.
